Harry Potter's Untimely Travels to the Past
by Wherevermyfeetakeme
Summary: Harry had somehow, in some unexplainable way, travelled back to the start of his stay at Number Four Privet Drive. If he was to make it through without killing all the idiots, he's going to need some wits about him, his Old Friend Death, and a more strangeness than normal. Yep. It was not going to go well. But at least he still had his glasses.
1. Chapter 1

Ummm, hi? I have never actually written a fanfiction and actually finished it. I hope you won't hate me if in a couple of months I decide that I can't be bothered, and abandon the story. Believe me, I know how that feels.

Can I also mention that I'm not fantastic at writing stories and I would love it if I could get any tips from you brilliant FanFiciton people in order for me to improve. I hope I don't bore you.

I am not, and will never, claim the right to be the author of the Harry Potter series although I would love to. I only own the words written on your computer/phone screen. Also, although I doubt you'd want to, please don't take/steal/plagiarize my pitiful work. I wouldn't like that.

Wow, I sound like a child.

Please, please tell me if you feel like a part of my story doesn't work or read well, so I can fix it.

Thank you for reading this little piece of writing from me to you,

Wherevermyfeetakeme

* * *

 **Harry Potter's Untimely Travels to the Past**

Harry Potter wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

First of all, he was a baby.

Secondly, he was staring up at the bottom of a set of stairs.

Third, he was pretty sure he was back in Number Four Privet Drive.

The conclusion, he was screwed.

For a split second he considered the fact that his whole life was a lie, something he made up when he was… well… the physical age he was now, to escape the tortures and the sheer stupidity that was the Dursleys, and had only just woken up. All his friends, colleges and acquaintances never existed and now he had to continue life as a muggle and never be able to do magic again because he was completely unable to even do a simple levitation charm.

Harry had honestly, until that particular moment, never regretted having such a vivid imagination before.

However, as he felt around for his magical core in all its silver and red glory, he realised two things.

One, he needed to go through the awkwardness of growing up for the second time in his life. And that meant that he had to go through puberty again and relive the horrors of his years before Hogwarts, without killing anyone.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Two, this was his chance to do some real damage. To completely bewilder the Wizarding world with whatever he could think up. He could cause mass hysteria by simply getting sorted into Slytherin, he could start his own army that would fight against both Dumbledore _and_ Tom Riddle. He could even pretend to-

Wait.

Harry grinned with sadistic glee, his mouth curving in a terrifying smirk and his Killing Curse green eyes flashed with hidden horrors and promised tortures.

Or it would have done if he had more than four teeth.

And was taller.

And wasn't wearing a nappy.

And-

Ew, really.

Harry grimaced in disgust as he shifted around in discomfort.

Why did he have to come back before he had been toilet trained?

No.

Harry was most definitely _not_ going to make it through the week if his arse was going to be in constant pain.

His hand flailed about in uncontrolled movements and his soiled nappy disappeared into a puff of smoke, his bottom healed itself and another, clean, dry nappy replaced the previously unsightly one in less than two seconds.

Harry sighed in contentment and closed his eyes.

Anyway.

Death owed Harry a favour, for reasons Harry thought was absolutely ridiculous. After all, Harry now basically controlled Death; he was its Master because by his usual dumb luck he had collected all the Deathly Hallows.

Harry still wasn't quite sure there weren't any loopholes.

But death had said, "I will grant you one of three wishes. It doesn't have to be now, it could be five minutes from now or fifty years, but you _will_ accept a wish or I will grant one for you."

And Harry had rolled his eyes, "What are they?"

Death had replied with his usual unnecessary enthusiasm, "Well, there's the ability to grant other people's wishes whenever you deem appropriate, you can choose to have Seer abilities which you will have no control over, or the ability to instantly know things. That last one would be good for defeating Riddle quicker. So, which one do you want, Harry?"

Harry had blinked slowly, his flawless face going lax with the unfairness of the options, "Ummm… Can I get an IOU?"

Death had sighed in disappointment, and pinched the bridge of his nose that didn't technically exist with the tips of the fingers that he didn't actually have, "You are _the_ most _frustrating_ not-mortal mortal in existence. _How do even you do that_?"

Harry had shrugged and flicked his finger at the being, "Now leave me to my lonesome. I have only unlimited time left to live, I don't want to waste it on you."

Back in the boot cupboard in Number Four Privet Drive, about three centuries before that monumental conversation with Death, Harry exhaled in a long breath, then:

"Oh, almighty Death! Would you grant me the honour of being in my inferior presence?"

POP!

"It is I, the almighty Death! My being had been called to-"

Death finally laid eyes on Harry, and stopped mid-sentence.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" He gasped. Death's glooming presence did not cause Harry the feeling of immense doom like all the other, normal, everyday Mortals. Harry's aged eyes stared at his old friend with indignation, the bright green pools fixed onto the approximate destination of the millennia old being's eyes and glowered so intensely that Death shuffled on his naked feet.

Or he would have if there were room in the cupboard under the stairs.

And he actually had feet.

"Did you do this to me?" Harry growled. Except it turned out more like:

"'Id 'ou 'o 'is ta 'ee!"

Death's eyes widened, "What?"

"Di' oooo- UGH!" Harry cried out in frustration and just thought really hard what he wanted to say.

"Did I do this to you?" Death asked, hearing the words in his Master's head.

Harry nodded jerkily.

"Nooo… Can't say I did." Death grinned, "Did you want me to do something?"

 _I want Seer abilities._

"Brilliant. It only took you three hundred years!" Death went to touch Harry's head with his middle finger but Harry flinched just out of his reach.

Death paused, his finger only millimetres away.

Harry gazed at the appendage with mistrust.

Death moved closer and Harry moved further away.

"Don't be a git, Harry." Death reprimand and jabbed his finger roughly at Harry's forehead.

Green eyes glazed over for exactly five seconds before clearing up.

"I don't feel any different." Harry remarked, and then paused. "Oh wait. What did you do?"

Death laughed, "I removed Tom Riddle from your person. Also I made it so you can speak properly."

"Alright. Thanks."

They didn't speak for a while, and Harry began examining his old-new body.

"Hey," Harry piped after he had made some minor changes to his de-aged two year old figure. "By the way, can I change whatever I want? Like… Can I _not_ meet Malfoy before Hogwarts, or would that happen anyway?"

Death clicked his tongue.

"What?" Huffed Harry and tried to cross his arms, but gave up when they simply flailed around and refused to cooperate. "What would happen, Death?"

"If you think it will happen it probably will." Death remarked and did not at all answer the poor Time Traveller's question.

"Death." Harry said.

Death sighed. "If you don't want to speak to him before Hogwarts, don't. It is as simple as that."

Harry eyed Death in disbelief, "I feel like there's a loophole in there."

Death shook his head, "I don't know what it is with you and the fear of loopholes in everything I say. What I say is law, nothing will change that."

"Yeah…" Harry drawled. "That's kind of what I'm afraid of."

Death scoffed, "You aren't afraid of anything."

Harry pursed his lips. "Actually, that's a pretty accurate description. Well done Death."

Death smiled, "Thank you Harry."

"You're welcome." Said Harry.

Death took out an old bronze pocket watch from the air, looked at it, sighed and peered regrettably at the much younger Harry Potter who was lying patiently in the old cot with the thinnest and most uncomfortable mattress Death had ever seen, and that was saying a lot.

"I have an appointment with Fate. I must go."

"Bye Death, see you soon." Harry flapped his hand in farewell, and watched passively as his old friend faded from view.

Harry hummed, "This is going to be interesting."

* * *

Harry awoke much the same way people free fall without a parachute from a plane flying much too high in the sky, the petrol running low and the pilot slumped over the controls.

His stomach levitated to his throat, and when the ground flew up to greet him in its loving embrace, his flesh and blood splattered to form a large red circle.

It was a strange feeling.

Aunt Petunia had apparently picked him up with all the carefulness that she was able to give to her Magical nephew. She cradled him with her arms with all she could muster and talked to him with the softness that Petunia was famous for.

Harry grimaced as he was plunked down on the floor, his bottom smacking against the tiles and almost tilting over backwards from the force.

"Don't move." Aunt Petunia hissed. "Don't you dare move."

Then Aunt Petunia spun around and strode out of the kitchen to her precious Dudder's room.

She came back with a big round ball, and-

Oh.

Never mind.

It was Dudley.

Merlin, for a moment Harry forgot that his cousin represented a pig so well that he couldn't even tell the difference if they were to be placed next to each other and compared. It was quite sad, really.

Harry wondered briefly if it would be a complement or an insult to Dudley if he won first prize in a Most Beautiful Pig competition. Then he would have honestly won an award without cheating.

But Harry guessed that at lease, if he looked like a pig, he was a beautiful pig.

"What are you smiling at?" Aunt Petunia snapped, and Harry quickly dropped his grin.

Dudley was already wailing, tugging roughly at Petunia's nice shirt and smearing yellow baby food all over it.

"Sweetums, the food goes _in_ your mouth." Petunia cooed.

Harry gagged on his spit.

"Good morning, Pet!"

Harry slowly turned his head, following his whale of an Uncle as he walked through the door, gave a wet smacking kiss to Petunia's cheek, sat down on his chair and opened his newspaper that was already on the table.

 _Kill me now, Death. I will thank you for all eternity._

With all his strength, Harry heaved himself to his feet, and, un-noticed by his remaining relatives, walked towards the back door. He opened it with a wave of his hand and slipped out into the morning.

* * *

So, how was it?

Good?

Bad?

Throw it away and never let it see the light of day again?

Go die in a hole Wherevermyfeetake me?

All of the above?

None of the above?

I'm reluctant to ask for reviews,

Buuuut I need motivation, and I have discovered that others have brilliant ideas.

I swear this makes me sound like an arrogant and stuckup mothertrucker.

Holy Shitsticks.

I swear I talk like this in real life.

How's it hangin'?

Wherevermyfeetakeme.


	2. Chapter 2

HI!

This is the second chapter.

I don't know what to think.

I just went with it...

I DO NOT claim the right to the Harry Potter series. I only own the words on your computer/phone screen.

Cheers, Wherevermyfeetakeme

* * *

 **Chapter Two: "So I don't have to keep them open."**

Sometimes Harry thought that it wasn't so bad, being sent to the past.

But then he remembered that he had spent the first seventeen years of his life with the Dursleys and his head ached.

Now he was back under the stairs with the spiders. They were the only organisms that seemed to enjoy his company and they often bit him. It didn't matter though, because Harry had magic and healed the bites before they could do any real damage to his tiny body.

The last time Harry was in Number Four Privet Drive he had just turned thirty and he was there because his Uncle had had a stroke.

Apparently his poor diet had caught up with him after more than sixty years of too much food and not enough exercise.

Harry didn't lose any sleep over it.

Petunia begged Harry for a potion that could heal her husband and return him to his former glory, all two hundred kilograms of it.

Harry had stared at her in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She had no right to ask that of him after how her family had treated Harry. Petunia had no right asking him to return movement to the same hand that painted him in black and blue.

How dare she?

 _"_ _Please, Harry," She had cried. "Please save him, it's the least you could do!"_

 _Harry sneered, "The lease I could do? THE LEASE I COULD DO? The lease I could do is murder you in front of him. I would laugh as the light left your pathetic little eyes. I would watch with undisguised glee as your perfect kitchen floor pooled with your sickly red blood, staining the tiles and I would leave you there. I would then slowly skin your son with a butter knife, all the while your husband struggled helplessly, unable to help and crying out in pain just like the way I did when I was a child. You tortured me and you say it is the least I could do?"_

 _Petunia's chin trembled, "Well, yes."_

 _"_ _You disgust me, Petunia Dursley."_

It had been three years since he had accidentally become a Time Traveller and Harry had only just managed to control his urge to strangle his relatives.

It was irrelevant that he often reached for a large kitchen knife and clenched it in his hands, before sighing with disappointment and putting it back.

There was no point mentioning the jerky movements of Harry's small hands wrapping around an invisible neck behind his cousin's back.

It was also silly to mention the burning hatred evident in his eyes whenever his uncle entered the same room as him.

There was no point.

It was the first day of his second round of preschool and Harry didn't know if he was looking forward to the aspect of finally being out of the house, or if he was dreading having to listen to the stupid teachers singing fucking nursery rimes all day, every day.

Who even does that?

Not Harry, that's for sure.

Dudley was whining as usual to Petunia, not wanting to leave his doting mother for just a few hours. His insistent wailing grated on Harry's nerves.

Harry's eye twitched under his glasses.

"Are you related to him?"

Harry whipped around at the sound of a pleasant young female voice cutting through the horrifying noises The Pig was making.

Thank Merlin for normal people.

The girl had bushy brown hair and was clutching a thick novel in her arms.

Harry's jaw dropped in disbelief.

 _Hermione Granger._

Hermione blinked in the wake of Harry's stunned silence, and waited patiently for Harry to gain his bearings.

"I-I-" Harry stammered.

Harry wasn't normally this incoherent.

But the sight of his best friend did things to his brain.

"You don't seem like the kind of person who can't talk." Hermione remarked, and patted his shoulder in sympathy. "It must be the thought of school clogging your head. Take your time."

"Unfortunately." Harry croaked.

"Hmm…" Hermione said. "You must have a difficult time at home."

Harry chocked on his breath.

"Are you okay?" Hermione queried, "You've stopped breathing."

"I'm fine." Harry squeaked.

"Hmm…" Hermione said. "I've read about these kinds of reactions. It must be from being in the presence of a female your own age for once. Are you thinking about me naked?"

Harry blacked out.

"…I can't say anyone's ever fainted from seeing me before." Hermione commented from above Harry. Her hair was falling in front of her face. "I don't know whether to take it as a complement or not."

Harry stared blankly.

"I don't suppose you're epileptic. Because that would explain it, but I thought that people with epilepsy had convulsing seizures. No. Actually I remember reading that there were all kinds of epilepsy so you could still be epileptic."

"What." Said Harry.

"Oh, never mind me. I'm just thinking aloud." Hermione waved him off.

"I'm not." Harry said.

"Not what?" Hermione asked, and stuck her hand out to help poor Harry off the floor.

"I'm not-" Harry grunted as he became upright once more and rubbed his head. "I'm not epileptic."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Oh. By the way, that horse looking woman left about five minutes ago."

"That's my Aunt. How long was I out for?" Harry said.

Harry watched as more four-year-olds came in with their parents for their very first day of school. Mothers were crying and fathers were grinning with pride as their little man/princess grew up right in front of their eyes.

Sometimes Harry thought about using the resurrection stone again.

But he didn't want a repeat of what happened last time.

"Only about three minutes." Hermione's voice cut through Harry's thoughts and effectively caused Harry to jump about four feet off the ground.

"Only?" Harry said.

"Yeah." Hermione replied.

"Right then." Sighed Harry.

"My name's Hermione Granger by the way." Said Hermione, "And you are?"

"I'm Harry Potter." Harry said, a distinct feeling of Déjà vu taking over his brain.

"Are you really?" Hermione gasped. "I've heard all about you of course!"

"What?" Harry seemed to be saying that word more times in the last few years than he did in the three hundred before that.

"Your Aunt said you were a trouble maker and to stay away from you." Hermione admitted. "She was quite loud about it. Even my Mum said to stay away from you, but I'm unnaturally smart so I can ignore the idiots."

Harry closed his eyes.

"Why are your eyes closed, Harry?" Hermione asked and leaned in so their noses were touching.

"So I don't have to keep them open."

Hermione didn't say anything for three seconds before humming in appreciation. "That's actually a really nice reason, well done."

"Thank you, 'Mione." Harry whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Hermione yelled.

"So I don't have to talk normally."

"I like that reason." Hermione said in the normal volume.

"Thank you, Mia." Harry said and stood on one leg.

"Why are you standing on one leg, Harry?"

"Because I can." Harry said, struggling to keep balance.

"That's not a very good reason, Harry." Hermione scold. "I'm disappointed in you."

Harry opened his eyes, "Thank you, Hermione."

He stood normally and Hermione leaned back.

"Come on, Harry." Hermione said. "I have a table saved; you'll be sitting next to me."

Harry followed his best friend to the back of the classroom. They were far away from the front so they weren't under the constant watchful eye of the torturer.

Five minutes later the class started.

"Good morning, class!" She called, her face almost splitting in half by the painful grin she was wearing. " _My_ name is _Mrs Bison!_ I will be your teacher for the year! I look _forward_ to getting to know _every single one of you!_ We will have a _great_ time together!"

Harry hung his head in his hands.

Why?

"Can you all get into a _giant circle,_ please?"

* * *

"Hewo." Said a small brown haired child. "My name ish Jashon an' I wike pwaying footbow wiff my Daddy."

Harry was _not_ going to speak like a little kid.

"Hewo evie-un!" squeaked a blond haired girl with too much enthusiasm. "I am Nate. I wike chock-oh-late."

He was _not_ going to speak like that.

He wasn't.

"My name is Hermione Granger. I take pleasure in reading."

It was Harry's turn now.

Harry kept silent.

"Harry." The slave driver prompted from across the other side of the elongated circle. "It's _your_ turn."

Harry glared at the teacher, "I am Harry. I like Quidditch."

The teacher's eyes softened with pity. "What's Kwitit like, Harry?"

Harry growled under his breath. "It's _Quiddich. You_ can't play."

"Now Harry, that wasn't very nice." Mrs Begone frowned.

"Are you a witch, Mrs Boring?"

"Excuse me?" Mrs Bitch spluttered.

"I said, are you a witch?" Harry hissed. "Because if you were I would feel sorry for the other witches you are giving a bad reputation. Ugliness, cruelty and constant condescension."

Harry had honestly thought he'd make it at least two hours before they called Aunt Petunia.

But Harry's luck had never been that great.

* * *

Soooo...

Uhhh...

Yeah...

That was it.

Reviews?


	3. Chapter 3

WELCOME TO...

Chapter Three.

I don't own Harry Potter, as I've mentioned before and I will probably continue to mention it in every chapter because I can. Also because I don't want to be sued. Can you tell I'm overly careful with stuff? Probably.

I have no idea where this story is going.

Please enjoy it.

Thanks, Wherevermyfeetakeme.

* * *

 **Harry Potter's Untimely Travels to the Past**

 **Chapter Three: It was a TEA SHOP for Merlin's sake!**

Never let it be said that Harry Potter didn't have a brilliant memory.

He could remember that time when his cat had climbed up his ridiculously expensive curtain and fell asleep lying precariously on the top of it.

He could even recite that time, decades ago, when the person in front of him at the tea shop had asked for a Cappuccino when it was plain as day that it was a _TEA SHOP_.

Although, come to think of it, it wasn't that difficult to remember because Harry had spent the next ten minutes educating the man on the art of hot beverages.

Except…

Harry couldn't recall a time when his Aunt had actually looked him in the eyes.

"Fine." She said stiffly. "But I'm not picking you up, I don't want you home until tomorrow and you keep your behaviour in check for a week so the school doesn't call me."

Aunt Petunia looked as if she had just drunk from a can of soft drink and discovered that it was flat.

"But what if the school calls because I saved a teacher from dying?" Harry asked, his face the picture of innocence. "Would I still be able to go to Hermione's house?"

"No." Said Aunt Petunia.

Harry gasped and forced his eyes to water. "But Aunt Petunia, I just saved someone from dying! Wouldn't you be glad to have a _Savior_ living in your home?"

Petunia hissed through her teeth. " _You little wrench!_ "

Harry smiled up at her.

" _Fine!"_ She snapped disgusted.

Harry beamed. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia!"

She then stormed out the classroom with all the grace Aunt Petunia held.

Which really wasn't much at all and Harry felt like laughing.

He'd do well in Slytherin.

Harry turned to Hermione and Mrs Granger. "Let's go shall we?"

"Are you sure your Aunt isn't crazy?" Mrs Granger asked as they walked out the front door of the school.

Harry looked up at her, squinting against the sun that was creating a silhouette with Mrs Granger's short figure. "Well, I wouldn't say crazy. Just… Not the best human being on the planet."

"Harry," Hermione interjected. "I thought we had agreed that our friendship did not extend beyond the school environment."

"Hermione," replied Harry with exactly the same tone of voice. "I thought we had agreed never to question each others decisions. Ever."

Hermione remained silent, considering. "I think we need to review our friendship contract."

"Agreed." Harry said.

All three of them opened their respective doors to the car, slid in and buckled their seatbelts. Hermione was in the back with Harry.

Mrs Granger started on the road.

He began tapping his knees.

The sounds of cars driving past reverberated around the car like an audience enjoying a sold out play.

Harry started humming the tune to the Jingle Bells even though it wasn't Christmas.

Drops of water splattered on the window from the black clouds overhead.

Harry opened his mouth to comment on the silence.

He snapped it shut.

The car's engine rumbled.

"Sooooo…" Harry began. "What are…?"

He trailed off.

Harry looked at the scenery for a couple of minutes.

But Harry could only last so long.

Harry huffed in frustration, "Is it always this quiet in the car?"

Hermione twisted around in the risen seat she was in and glared at him. "It is tradition."

Harry stared. "Tradition?"

"Yes. Now be quiet."

Harry gaped. "But-"

"Shut up, Harry."

Mrs Granger said, "Language, young lady."

Hermione sighed. "But Harry was talking."

"And now I'm talking." Mrs Granger replied, daring her daughter to object. "Will you tell me to shut up?"

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance and didn't say anything.

Harry poked his tongue out in smugness.

"I saw that young man." Mrs Granger reprimanded and turned into her driveway.

Harry startled. "We're here already?"

"Yes." Hermione sneered, "And you would have known that if you were paying attention."

Harry paused. "Er, Hermione? I didn't actually know where you lived."

Hermione froze in the process of opening the door.

"Yeah, Hermione." Mrs Granger mocked. "He didn't know where you lived."

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione snapped.

All the blood in Hermione's face disappeared in two seconds flat.

Mrs Granger waited.

"I'm sorry, Mum!" Hermione squeaked and tumbled out of the car, raced towards the door of the house and disappeared inside.

"I'm sorry about Hermione, Mrs Granger." Harry said solemnly when they had gotten out of the car, and shuffled on his feet. "She's normally well behaved."

"Oh, don't worry dear." Mrs Granger said, and petted Harry's messy black hair with fondness. "Now, I made some biscuits on the weekend. Would you like some?"

"Oh, yes please, Mrs Granger." Harry smiled.

"Call me Mum, Harry." Mrs Granger said.

They entered the house.

"Ok Mum." Harry's teeth flashed in triumph.

* * *

"I still can't believe Mum let you have the biscuits and not me." Hermione complained from where her head was hidden behind a massive Physics book, her head hanging off the edge of her bed.

Harry grinned maliciously, "Well, _I'm_ her favourite child."

Hermione growled. "You're not even related to her!"

"But Hermione!" Harry cried, and flopped to the ground, spread eagle, a book on poetry still in his hand. "She is the only mother I have! Why would you say such a thing and hurt my poor five year old feelings?"

Hermione shook her head, "I really don't know how we get along sometimes."

Harry blinked up at her, "Because I'm the best human being on the planet?"

"Yes." Hermione deadpanned, and continued reading.

There was a comfortable silence other than the occasional rustle of paper.

A clock in the house chimed.

"Hermione?" Harry lowered his book, so he could look at her. "You know I'll never take your Mum away from you, right?"

"Harry." She sighed and set her tome down on her chest and looked at Harry upside down. "I'm reluctant to say this, lest you get a big head, but. She's your Mum too."

Was she serious?

Harry's chin wobbled with the effort to keep it together.

Stupid kid emotions.

Hermione gazed at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before chucking her book away uncaringly, rolling over and leaping off her pink quilt.

"Harry." She breathed. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm _not-_ " Harry fisted his eyes in frustration, "I'm not _crying._ "

Hermione wrapped her arms around her friend and tucked his head under her chin. "It's okay to cry Harry. It doesn't make you weak."

That was what older Hermione would say.

Harry let out a wet sob.

"You're family, Harry." Hermione reminded sternly, as she rocked him. "I'm not an only child with you, you're my brother."

"And you're my sister." Harry whimpered.

Hermione kissed the crown of his head. "Would looking at the stars cheer you up?"

Harry smiled, "We could try."

Hermione grinned.

They let each other go and ran out Hermione's bedroom door to ask Mum if they could stargaze.

Apparently Mr Granger was passionate about astrology.

They didn't go to bed until two o'clock in the morning.

* * *

 _"_ _Are you ready to die, Harry Potter?" Voldemort questioned as he strode into the clearing._

 _Harry stared back defiantly, but didn't say anything._

 _"_ _You're just going to leave them alone and vulnerable?" Voldemort grinned. "How… Gryffindor of you."_

 _Harry clenched his jaw._

 _They were in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. The sun was long gone and hidden behind the trees._

 _It was time for Harry to die._

 _"_ _You're just going to leave them vulnerable?" Voldemort hissed._

 _Harry blinked at the sudden change of attitude and stepped back._

 _"_ _You're just going to leave them there?" Voldemort screeched and stepped forward._

 _His body contorted, melted and blurred Voldemort's snake-like figure._

 _His face changed into someone else._

 _Suddenly Dumbledore was standing there, as weak as he the day he died. His hand burnt black, the cursed ring still on his finger and Harry stuttered on his feet, not knowing what to do._

 _"_ _Were you really going to leave them to die, Harry?" Dumbledore rasped._

 _Harry swallowed in shame._

 _He had never wanted to disappoint Dumbledore._

 _But now he had._

 _"_ _Why would you do that, my boy?" Dumbledore moved forward._

 _Then Ron was in Dumbledore's place, fury and disgust twisting his features._

 _"_ _How could you Harry?" Ron snarled and took a step towards him. "Why would you leave us?"_

 _A tear slid down Harry's cheek._

 _Ron laughed. "Oh! Oh ho! Iddy baby's crying! You want your Mummy? Oh, wait. You don't have one of those, my bad."_

 _Sirius replaced Ron._

 _His eyes were empty and void of life._

 _"_ _You killed me, kid." Sirius murmured, looking everywhere but Harry. "Why would you do that?"_

 _Harry keened with pain, his Godfather refusing to look him in the eyes._

 _"_ _Please!" Harry yelled. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I'm sorry!"_

 _"_ _Oh, kid. I trusted you." Sirius whispered, and moved towards his godson. "Why did you kill me?"_

 _Hermione swapped places with Sirius._

 _"_ _Why would you leave us, Harry!" She wailed as tears began falling down her cheeks like the stars in the night sky above their heads. "You were just going to run away! Why would you do that!?"_

 _"_ _I'm sorry!" Harry shouted and tried to move towards her, but he couldn't move._

 _His feet were stuck to the ground, solid._

 _"_ _You would you do that?" She repeated and moved another step forward._

 _She was now only one meter away._

 _"_ _Hermione!" Harry sobbed, struggling to reach out to her._

 _He could not move._

 _Hermione began to shrink, de-aging until she was five years old._

 _"_ _You're such a creep!" She shrieked. "How could you!"_

 _Harry's shoulders shuddered with the force of salty tears flowing down his face, his cheeks their river beds, falling all the way down until they dripped from his chin and into the soil beneath his feet._

 _"_ _I'm five!" Hermione shouted._

 _Harry collapsed on the ground, his legs to weak to hold his body._

 _"_ _Why would you do that Harry?" Hermione asked and tilted her head down._

 _Harry looked up at Hermione, his vision blurry._

 _"_ _Hermione, please!" He pleaded. "It's not like that. I'm sorry!"_

 _"_ _Harry?" Hermione mumbled._

 _"_ _Hermione!" Harry screamed, grabbing the end of her pyjama pants desperately._

 _"_ _Harry?" Hermione said with a worried lit and knelt down next to him, clutching his arm._

 _"_ _I'm sorry!" Harry grabbed onto Hermione's arm, sobbing with grief._

 _"_ _Harry!" She cried and began shaking him._

 _"_ _I'm sorry!" Harry yelled._

"HARRY WAKE UP!"

* * *

I'm surprised at myself.

I've never been able to write serious things, I can't believe that end bit turned out the way it did.

By the way, just to let you know (and before I forget) the updates _will_ most certainly be spastic and random, mostly becasue of school and this new job I just attatined, so don't wait up for the updates. But know that I will try my darn hardest.

Question: What's your third favourite Harry Potter character? Now put them on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean with one lone coconut tree and pick three things for them to have to survive. Can be both magical and muggle. I'm not sure what I'm actually going to do with this information, to be honest, but,

I'm curious.

Have a good one!

Wherevermyfeetakeme.


	4. Chapter 4

This is the fourth installment of Harry Potter's Untimely Travels to the Past...

I don't own the Harry Potter series and I never will.

I don't know what I was feeling when I wrote this. Sad I think.

I do feel like this is going too fast, too many advances in too little chapters but I have difficulty stretching scenes and dialouge.

Please enjoy.

Werevermyfeetakeme

* * *

 **Chapter Four: "You have a scar of your forehead, did you know?"**

"NO!" Harry howled and ripped his eyes open.

Light flooded his vision with throbbing assertiveness.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, shielding them from the painful brightness.

"Harry!" Hermione wept with relief as she saw the green of his eyes again.

"Hermione?" Harry breathed and squinted up at her.

Hermione's face was damp with tears, her cheeks red.

He scrabbled for her hand and held it tight.

She was here, with him.

Harry sobbed as he realised it had only been a nightmare.

"Harry, sweetie." Jane Granger said weakly. "Harry, are you okay?"

Hermione reared on her mother. "Of course he's not okay! Are you stupid? He was scratching at his bloody face!"

"Hermione Jean Granger! That is no way to talk to your mother!" Mrs Granger barked right back at her.

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand and she turned back to him, her face screwed up in anxiousness.

"I'm okay, Hermione." He lied.

"No you're most definitely not, Harry!" Jane hissed. Then she turned to the door. "Michael, can you hand me the cloth please?"

Harry shook his head, "No I'm fine."

"Stop lying." Mrs Granger scolded as she began wiping the blood off his face.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione murmured, stroking his uncontrollable hair.

Harry smiled faintly. "What's with you and petting my hair?"

Hermione scowled briefly. "Stop joking."

Michael interrupted. "Do you want be to call the ambulance, dear?"

Mrs Granger shook her head. "I have a feeling Harry wouldn't like that."

Harry winched as Jane wiped over a particularly deep cut.

"What about his hands Mum?" Hermione asked.

"I'll go grab another cloth, alright?" Michael said, and walked out the door.

Mrs Granger worked in silence for a few moments.

"Oh!" She exclaimed suddenly. "You have a scar on your forehead, did you know?"

Harry wheezed a laugh, "Yeah I know."

"I didn't know you had a scar." Hermione said and looked in fascination.

"Well, I do have a pretty long fringe, Hermione." Harry reminded.

"How'd you get it?" Hermione asked.

Harry's smile dropped.

"You have to know things first." He answered.

"I know things!" Hermione protested.

"I think it had something to do with the way the objects were floating around the room, honey." Mrs Granger said casually.

Harry froze.

"Yes." Mrs Granger hummed. "I thought it might be something like that."

"What!" Harry cried desperately. "That's not right. I don't even get- why would- I've never done that before, anywhere. It's none of your- you have- the nerve, the audacity. It's not magic technically. And magic is terrible, control wise. And how- how- do I know, frankly, that it wasn't you? Or- or Hermione that did it? Maybe you are. Maybe you're trying to throw me off? Hmm check and mate."

Mrs Granger and Hermione stared at him as if they were trying to figure him out.

"It might have been me." Hermione realised.

"Yes, except it immediately stopped when you saw Hermione." Mrs Granger told him.

Harry sagged.

Dammit.

"You're going to have a few more scars on your face, unfortunately." Jane commented, not missing a beat.

Harry shrugged.

Michael came back into the room with another two damp cloths, swapped one with his wife and gave the other to his daughter.

Then he walked back out.

"Do you normally get such bad nightmares, Harry?" Mrs Granger asked.

"It was pretty awful." Hermione added as she started wiping the blood off his hands.

Harry closed his eyes and nodded reluctantly.

"And does your Aunt help you?" Mrs Granger said.

Harry shook his head.

"I didn't think so." She said, and finished wiping the blood off.

"How you cope with those bastards is beyond me." Hermione growled.

Mrs Granger seemed to agree with her because she didn't comment on her language.

"Language, Hermione." Harry did it for her.

"Oh, bite me." Hermione snapped.

Michael returned again and gave the clean cloth to Hermione.

"Are you going to be alright, Harry?" Michael asked.

"Yeah." Harry replied, opening his eyes. "I always am."

* * *

"Now you remember to call if you need anything, okay?" Mr Granger said.

Harry looked up at his adoptive father and smiled.

"And you remember that you are always welcome to our home." He continued.

Harry nodded.

"And you know what number to call if they ever hit you?" Mrs Granger reminded.

"Call 999." Harry reported.

"And if they lock you up, you concentrate as hard as you can and try to get out using that magic trick." Hermione said, looking at him sternly.

Harry sighed. "Of course."

"Good." They all said.

Hermione gripped him in a tight hug and choked out, "Don't you dare let them trample your spirit."

Mrs Granger placed both her hands on Harry's flustered cheeks, "You are _not a freak_."

Mr Granger clasped his shoulders, "You're a good kid, Harry."

"And you are my family." Harry strangled out, a strange knot forming in his throat.

Their answering smiles said it all.

"GET INSIDE!" Aunt Petunia called from the living room window.

"I'll see you at school, Harry." Hermione said and walked back to the car.

"You can come over next week." Mrs Granger said and followed her daughter.

"I'll get Rick to look out for you." Michael said.

Harry frowned.

"Rick's a cop." Michael explained.

"Oh, you don't have to." Harry replied.

"But I'm going to." Michael smiled down at Harry and walked down Number Four Privet Drive's driveway to their car.

Harry waved them away and watched Hermione's face as she signalled frantically, until they disappeared down the street and around the corner.

"GET INSIDE!" Aunt Petunia yelled again and Harry sighed.

"Coming Aunt Petunia."

* * *

A few hours later, after Harry had:

Cleaned the windows,

Cleaned the floors,

Cleaned the bathroom,

Done the washing,

Gardened,

Cooked,

Cleaned the dishes, and

Polished the floorboards,

Harry was lying in his cupboard, exhausted.

It had already been roughly four years of being back with the Dursleys and Harry's resolve was beginning to crack. His patience and mind were gradually starting to break into pieces.

Harry hadn't had a nightmare that bad since the years immediately after the war.

Harry didn't know why.

And sometimes Harry wanted to give up, he was ready to surrender.

He thought about asking Death to take him away again, for the first time since his family died.

Death would understand that Harry couldn't handle it anymore, he would know that Harry had a breaking point. Death would try as hard as he could to carry out his Master's wishes no matter what he needed to do.

But Harry couldn't leave Hermione to the cruel children at school. She would never forgive him.

Harry couldn't live with that.

His family were all dead. Ginny; Ron; his kids James, Lily and Albus; his grandchildren and great grandchildren and all the following children after that had all looked and seemed different after he had been forced to face the truth.

He would never age, and he'd have to watch as all those he loved fell like flies around his feet.

Harry hated feeling so helpless so he left. He ran away from Britain and applied for random portkey placement. He still wasn't sure where he ended up, but he stayed as far away from his family as he could.

The neighbours thought him antisocial, and he was in a way, but they only knew a tenth of what Harry was.

The only reasons he left the house was to grab whatever he was running out of before his next grocery delivery. He never left without a heavy disguise.

But that house would never have been a home.

His home was in Britain.

Harry turned over on his bed and stared at the wall.

He didn't know what to do anymore.

The wall started blurring as Harry's eyes glazing over with tears.

Harry sniffed.

He'd never cried so much before.

"Oh, Harry." A disembodied voice floated from behind Harry.

"Hello Death." Harry choked out and curled up into a ball.

"You really haven't had the best life, have you?" Death said and squeezed onto Harry's bed.

Harry laughed a little.

"Come here, kid." Death coaxed and opened his arms.

Harry crawled into Death's arms, opened his heart and cried.

"Why did it have to be me?" Harry sobbed, clutching onto Death's black silk robes that didn't actually exist. "All I ever wanted was to be with my family."

"I don't know why Harry." Death admitted and pressed his chin comfortingly on Harry's head.

"But they're your Hallows, Death." Harry said.

Death closed his eyes in sadness.

"It's always been out of my control, Harry." Death whispered. "If I could let you go onto the afterlife just like that, I would. You know that right, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

He did know that.

"I just- I just don't understand." Harry whimpered.

"You never have had much luck." Death said.

They were quiet for a moment before Harry piped up.

"Promise me, Death." Harry began. "Promise me that everyone I come to love when I do this again will have a good afterlife."

Death sighed, "You know I can't-"

"Promise me!" Harry barked.

Death remained silent for a moment. "I promise."

Because even Death had favourites.

* * *

Yeah, that was- that was it.

It's a little sad, and I say again that I think it's going a bit too fast, but if I don't get it out now, it'll never get written.

I had to look up the emergency number for Britain because I didn't know what it was. Australia's emergency number is 000 and I had to think twice before I wrote that.

Thanks for reading.

See you later, Wherevermyfeetakeme.


	5. Chapter 5

Hellllooo!

This is the next chapter after- what was it? Two, three weeks of nothing? I think it was but I've been super busy and by busy I mean I was working and playing on my new computer because it doesn't poop itself if it needs to run a game as simple as Tetris. Also school is a thing.

Anyway.

I hope you like this chapter because technically it took me more than a week, but I actuality could have taken me a few hours.

This isn't dedicated to anyone in particular, just my good friend Eugiene.

It's an inside joke.

This is me forcing you to enjoy the following chapter.

Do it.

Enjooooyyyy theee chaaaapteeerrrr.

You know you want toooooo...

Alright I'm done.

* * *

 **Chapter Five: "Will** ** _I_** **be able to fix things like that?"**

Hermione sat staring at her only friend and her only friend stared back.

They did not blink.

And they would not blink.

They _could not blink_.

"One minute." Michael Granger intoned from where he was sitting on one of the couches and facing them, scanning the two for any rule breaking.

Harry clenched his jaw.

Hermione tucked her hands under her thighs.

Jane Granger walked into the room carrying a tray with tea cups balanced precariously on top.

She paused and eyed the children in confusion. "Michael?"

Michael shushed her by flailing his hand in her direction.

Hermione clenched her hands into fists against the stinging in her eyes and fought to keep them open.

Harry licked his lips, concentrating on blocking out the pain.

"Michael?" Mrs Granger asked again as she gently placed the tray on the coffee table so it was away from the kids. They were likely to break out in pandemonium any second. "Michael what are they doing?"

Mr Granger held up his finger, his eyes still locked on his wrist watch. "One minute, thirty seconds."

Mrs Granger sighed in acceptance and collapsed onto the couch beside Michael with a cup of Yorkshire in her hands.

She sipped the tea carefully, swished it around her mouth and swallowed.

Harry blinked.

"AHA!" Hermione shrieked with euphoria, flew off the couch and sprinted out the door to the next room.

Harry frowned. "But that's not fair."

Mr Granger guffawed, pointing his finger at his surrogate son. "You said! You said!"

Harry glared at Michael. " _I_ said nothing. _You_ said that if I lost I would show you my magic trick. But I did not agree with those conditions. _I_ demand a rematch!"

"You can't do that!" Hermione yelled from the next room where she was rummaging around and causing a big mess in order to find something adequate for Harry to use.

"That's not fair Harry, it's against the rules. I forbid it." Mr Granger said, using the adult voice that he never used.

It was so unfair and uncalled for.

"Can so!" Harry shouted back.

"Can not!" Hermione and Michael screamed.

"Can so!"

"Can not!"

"Can so!"

"Can not!"

"Can so!"

"Can no-"

"Alright that's enough!" Jane roared, and all three of them shut up.

Harry and Michael turned to her.

"What is going on?" Mrs Granger asked calmly.

"They aren't playing fair!" Harry accused and pointed both his left and right hand towards the room Hermione was in and Mr Granger respectively.

Mrs Granger nodded, a look of careful understanding upon her face. "It sucks doesn't it?"

Harry beamed, thinking Mrs Granger was on his side.

Mrs Granger smirked down at him, "Too bad, Harry. Show us."

Harry gaped and stared at her in disgust, "How dare you?"

Hermione ran back into the living room and placed something in Harry's hand.

Harry gazed down at it perplexedly.

It was a small wind up dancing ballerina music box that Hermione's Grandmother had given her days before she died from old age. Hermione was distraught after she had accidentally broken it, and it was unable to be repaired when she dropped it from the top of the stairs. It had fallen and hit every step on the way down. Little bits of ceramic and porcelain broke off bit by bit until all that remained were Hermione's tears.

Harry looked up helpless because he knew that if he didn't fix it, Hermione would never forgive him.

Nor would he forgive himself.

Sighing, Harry cupped the broken pieces in both of his hands.

He closed his eyes and tuned his mind inward, to his magic and Harry allowed it to flow down his arms, his wrists, his hands, his fingers until they were tingling with the build-up of magical energy.

The pieces were consumed in magic, coating every broken part with its wild energy and embracing it with its fiery existence until it had taken everything Harry had given.

Harry's mouth moved and one whispered word, one small noise was spoken.

" _Reparo."_ Harry breathed.

The pieces mended, and welded together, sticking and fixing each fraction until it was no longer the crumbled memories of a loved one long gone.

The smiling face of the ballerina gazed back at Harry with unseeing clarity.

The room was silent.

Harry looked up.

Had he done something wrong?

One tear traced Hermione's cheek like the water racing down a window from the rain pouring from the heavens.

Hermione held out her hands and Harry gently placed the ballerina back into Hermione's hands, giving her the memoirs she had lost.

Her nimble fingers slowly wound the key, once, twice, three times and when she let go, the music twinkled in the silent room like crickets in the dead of night.

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione asked, hours later, when Mrs Granger had retired to bed to read and Mr Granger was still in the study.

Harry peered over the back of the couch to where Hermione was playing chess on her own because Harry was never going to be competition for her. "Yes?"

Hermione looked up, "Will _I_ be able to fix things like that?"

Harry stared down at her, "You'll learn in a few years."

"But, that's only on the assumption that I am actually a Witch and not because everything I had accidentally done was just a trick of the light and something that could easily be explained by science."

"Everything can be explained by science. Besides, you are a witch, Hermione. I've said that already." Harry reminded her.

"But how do you know that?" Hermione protested, not looking up at Harry. "How can you be so sure?"

"Well." Harry began. "There's this thing called a brain, and- OW!"

Harry rubbed at his temple and pouted down at his friend, "What was that for?"

Hermione grabbed another chess piece and raised her arm in warning, "I'm serious!"

"No, that's my Godfather." Harry retorted.

The pawn went flying.

Harry reared back and flailed as he tried to grip onto the couch, but his fingers slipped on the leather, not able to grab hold.

Harry fell off the couch and his body collapsed, folded between the coffee table and the chair.

Harry puffed out a breath.

Hermione face peered over the back of the couch, another chess piece clutched loosely in her hand.

"I repeat, 'how do you know?' And if you don't answer me, this goes flying."

Harry gulped.

"Well… Er… Because I've seen it?"

Hermione blinked. "But you haven't."

"I actually have."

"That's impossible. It hasn't happened yet."

"I can See the future." Harry said.

"Right. And that makes everything so much simpler." Hermione replied sarcastically.

Harry glowered, "You wanted an answer, I gave you one."

"But that doesn't explain how you know I'm a witch, Harry."

"Of course it does."

Hermione stared at him in frustration. "No. It. Doesn't."

"And how, frankly, do you know that?" Harry smirked.

Hermione's eyes widened a fraction and Harry had no time to move out of the way of the next flying projectile.

"Alright, fine!" Harry whined as he rubbed his forehead vigorously. "I've already lived it."

Hermione froze in her haste to grab another chess piece, and stared at Harry uncomprehendingly. Then, almost as if she suddenly understood everything Harry had done that she didn't understand before, her anger dissipated.

Hermione pursed her lips, "You already knew me." She stated, "When we met at school."

Harry nodded.

"And that reaction you had to seeing me wasn't because you were deprived of the female touch but because you were deprived of… of _me._ "

Harry gazed fixedly.

"You looked like you hadn't seen me for a while, so I'm guessing I died."

Harry gulped.

"I was your friend- but we had more! We had more friends but they died too, didn't they, Harry?"

Harry's eyes watered.

"I see by your reaction-"

Harry snapped.

"DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU THAT I WATCHED YOU DIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES? DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU THAT I WAS THE ONLY ONE THAT COULD SAVE THE WORLD FROM THE GREATEST DARK WIZARD THAT EVER WALKED THIS EARTH AND I COULDN'T EVEN DO THAT? DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU THAT ALL I HAD TO DO WAS KILL THIS ONE PERSON THAT HAD ALREADY KILLED SO MANY INNOCENT PEOPLE AND I DIDN'T DO IT QUICK ENOUGH? DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU THAT IF I HAD JUST- If I had just defeated him earlier all those I loved would still be alive? My wife, my children, you, Ron! You would all still be alive. And I don't know why I was given a chance to change the outcome, but I was and I'm _not going to let it slip through my fucking fingers like all the other godammned times I was given another chance!"_

Harry's chest heaved.

Harry dug the palms into his eyes and breathed in deeply, held it and then hissed it out through his teeth.

"I watched my whole family fall because I wasn't there to protect them. _I ran away like the fucking coward I am and left them on their own._ I could have _fucking_ saved them."

Small shaky arms wrapped around Harry, tightening with every heaving sob, squeezing all of Harry's broken pieces together and keeping them from falling apart like the wind up ballerina music box that hit every step on the way down.

And even if Hermione couldn't fix an inanimate object.

Even if she doesn't turn out to be a Witch like Harry said.

At least she might be able to fix Harry.

* * *

So there's that.

I hope to god that there aren't any plot holes in this because I realised that something didn't add up as I was writing so I had to fix it.

I kind of like this one, to be honest, I hope you do too. Any hoo…

I hope you did like it.

Have a good morning/day/afternoon/evening/night/etc. etc.

Wherevermyfeetakeme.


	6. Chapter 6

HIIIIIIII DON'T HIT ME! IM SORRY!  
I had writers block. I was finishing this school year. I was getting into the swing of work. And you don't care…

Well I hope you liked this.

Umm… I don't own the Harry Potter series so I take no credit.

See you at the bottom of the page.

Wherevermyfeetakeme.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: "Lets never do that again."**

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

Pause.

"Is there a reason we're staring at a brick wall?"

"There is always a reason for everything."

"Harry."

Harry turned around, a look of self-annoyance on his face and gazed at Hermione who looked back at him carefully.

"There's just one small problem…" Harry grimaced, "I forgot I would need a wand."

Hermione stared back at Harry, bewildered and confused, "But you didn't need a wand when you fixed my ballerina, why would you need one now?"

Harry blinked fast.

What do you know?

Well, of course, the Goblins, and all the other magical creatures who aren't allowed a wand would need to get into Diagon Alley.

Harry hit his forehead and the thwack echoed around the small enclosed space behind The Leaky Cauldron.

Sometimes Harry really questioned how he was still alive because he was so stupid.

"Right." Harry sighed and faced the wall again.

He reached his hand up.

And stopped a foot from where the first brick he needed to touch was.

He flexed his feet and stood on his toes.

It did basically nothing.

"Harry, Sweetheart," Mrs Granger said from behind Harry, her bag filled with everything they would need for the trip. "Do you want some help?"

Harry grunted, "N-no, I'm fiiiiiiiii… Actually, I think I just pulled something."

"I gotcha, Harry." Mr Granger said, grabbed Harry's tiny waist and hoisted him up so he was able to tap all the correct bricks in the correct order.

The bricks moved and changed.

"…" Said Hermione.

"…" Said Mrs Granger.

"…" Said Mr Granger.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." Said Harry.

He walked through the new opening in the wall and didn't turn back to check if they were following.

* * *

"...and this is Gringotts." Harry pointed his minuscule finger towards the large white building.

The Granger family stared. They jostled in the moving crowd.

"That building over there is Flurish and Blotts." Harry continued.

Their faces were lax with amazement. Their bodies moved automatically with the people walking past them.

"This one is Madam Malkins Robes For All-"

They all nodded in sync. They didn't seem to notice the other humans.

"…AND THIS IS SPARTA!" Harry shouted, spinning on them suddenly but they did not flinch.

The crowd around them started and stared.

"Are you even LISTENING?!" Harry huffed and put his hands on his hips in irritation.

"…Of course we are dear." Mrs Granger intoned.

Harry had _no idea_ why he didn't believe them.

"Harry, can we go to the book shop?" Hermione asked.

Harry smacked his forehead.

* * *

"Heyheyheyheyheyheyheyheyheyheyheyheyheyhey-"

Harry stood on tip toes and looked over Hermione's shoulder at the book she currently had her nose stuck in. It was a funny looking thing with brightly coloured pages and strange block writing, but Hermione seemed deeply interested.

Harry immediately hated it.

"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Whatareyoureading? Whatareyoureading? Whatareyoureading? Whatareyou-"

What was so special about the book anyway?

Sure they can transport you to, ultimately, another universe, or world, or whatever, but it's just words on a page. Who needs imagination anyway?

McGonagall?

Dumbledore?

Gandalf?

Obama?

Not Harry, that's for sure.

"Hermione." Harry whined, his shoulders slumping childishly.

"We've been through this at least ten times already, and because your brain can't seem to handle mature words, I'll say it again. "I _like reading._ If I want to read, I will. If there is a book lying around I will be reading it. If there is an author to see into the mind of I will see into the mind of them. If there is someone who wants to write a book I will pester them until they do just that so I can then, essentially, read it."

Harry pouted. "But what if-!"

"And there is nothing you can do about it."

She did not once look up from her book.

What is this life?

Harry huffed out a frustrated breath before turning around and freezing.

Blond hair.

High cheek bones.

Clothing that looked like it came from the gods itself.

Chin raised to the heavens.

Harry panicked, dropped and rolled.

Right into Hermione's legs.

They fell over each other, their hands scrabbling for purchase, but alas it was not to be.

Limbs flew everywhere.

Knee in crotch.

Elbow in stomach.

Hair in mouth, book in spine, everything where it was NOT SUPPOSED TO BE!

"Harry." Hermione sighed. "Get off."

The _please_ was implied.

Then the dreaded _voice_ came and Harry-

"Father?"

"Yes, Dragon?"

"Why awe dey rolling on de fwaw?"

"You mean 'why _are they_ rolling on _the floor?'"_

"Yes, dat."

"I thought it was obvious, Dragon."

"…"

"I do not know, Dragon."

"Should we help dem?"

"What do you think?"

"Def'nit'we _not,_ Father."

"Well done, Dragon. Good boy."

"I answered right?"

"Yes, Dragon. Let us continue our shopping."

"Otay, Father."

Harry lifted his head hesitantly and looked around at the people in the shop.

They were all staring at the scene they had created.

"Do I have something on my face?" Harry asked innocently, looking up. "Because if I do I'd like you to tell me, because it would be incredibly rude of you not to- I had someone do that to me once and I was walking around with a dick on my face for the whole day and let me tell you it was not a fun experience. My aunt locked me in my cup- never mind that's for another time- and now they have lost interest. Good. It is time for us to arise from this painfully awkward situation we have found ourselves in. Come, Hermione, it is time for_"

Harry looked back at Hermione.

"Are you _kidding me right now?"_ Harry seethed.

Hermione was still reading that wretched book.

"Notice me, oh holy one!"

Pause.

"And I did not mean you, Death!" Harry whispered out the corner of his mouth.

"I can tell when I am not needed."

* * *

Harry clapped his hands in front of him and rubbed them together in agitation. They were exiting the leaky cauldron and it had been three hours later since the Incident. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the buildings in Diagon alley.

"That was just _so_ _fun_ wasn't it?"

Silence.

"Let's _not do that again."_

His smile was strained.

* * *

I am getting lazier. It feels like I'm getting lazier. Do you think I'm getting lazier?

It has also come to my attention that this story is going to be something that I will not likely update quickly because it's probably going to be more of a side thing because I am writing numerous others which probably isn't the best idea in the world but I was never one to make thing easier for myself-

And you need to breath.

I once wanted to live in Antarctica until I realised that there wasn't going to be any toy shops and I gave up on that idea.

Hey don't judge, I was like…

Under seven, I think.

You don't care about this either.

Well. I hope you have a good Christmas/had a good Christmas/are having a good Christmas.

I know mine was average, but I ate too much food. It was great.

Anyway have a good one.

Cheers,

Wherevermyfeetakeme.


	7. Chapter 7

I don't know how long it's been since the last update, but I'm sorry for the wait. I have been super-duper busy.

I don't own Harry Potter, that is, sadly, owned by J.K Rowling and not yours truly.

I have no idea here this story is going.

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: "I know. It just doesn't change anything."**

There were many times, many moments, where Harry felt out of place and felt like where he stood was not where he was supposed to be. He was meant to be somewhere else, doing better things with his life. Greater things than sitting on his arse and staring out the window mourning those long dead. In those moments he thought about revisiting the Resurrection Incident and bringing his family back to him only for them to coax him to-

No.

Harry swore that was the last time he tried to do that. He didn't want the last memories of his parents to be stained any more than they already were.

So, instead, he sought out to cure diseases and curses, create world dominating – changing! He meant changing – spells to help those who are mentally, physically or emotionally incapacitated.

He supposed that while he was also desperately keeping himself from the brink of insanity and, most probably, death, he was also protecting the Wizarding World from almost inevitable peril.

Great, now he was sounding like Dumbledore.

It was a sad day when Harry managed to cure Lycanthropy. Remus had been dead for decades.

Right now, in the past, he had no access to those things. He didn't have the particular cauldron he needed, because it simply hadn't been invented. He didn't have the right plants, or animals, or rocks because they did not exist. He couldn't really do anything without a wand either because it was needed to create spells. He'd opted to wait for his Hogwarts letter for that. Harry didn't particularly know why.

But he did have access to Hermione.

Maybe he could help her with magic.

Harry and his almost-sister sat cross-legged, facing each other in the middle of the lounge room, the coffee table, pushed out the way to make room. They wore bright pink bath robes at the insistence of Harry, and paper witch's hats because Mrs Granger's imagination needed to be unleased. That was her words, at least. Mr Granger wasn't interested in fashion, so he opted for the sidelines. Hermione didn't know why they needed to dress up, but kept her mouth shut.

Mr and Mrs Granger were sitting on the sofa, sipping tea leisurely, watching in fascination as nothing was happening.

"Right," Harry began, putting on his teaching voice. "I gave you that meditation book a couple of months ago and-"

"Told me to practice on my own for now and ask you questions if I wasn't sure. Is this really-"

Harry levelled her with a look. Hermione snapped her mouth closed.

"As I was saying," Harry stressed, placing his hands on his knees. "I hope you understand the art of Meditating because that is literally all we're going to do now. You didn't seek your Core on your own did you? Just Meditated?" At Hermione's nod, he continued, "What you're going to today, is keep going."

"'Keep going'?" Hermione queried, "Whatever do you mean?"

Harry sighed, "The book said that you achieve Meditation at a certain point and it told you to stop at that certain point, correct?" Harry was pretty sure that's what it said and if it didn't Harry probably gave her the wrong book.

"Yeah, it did," Hermione confirmed. "But that's mediation, it's not meant to go any farther than that, right?"

"Mediation, is, yes. However, finding your Core is an entirely different matter." Harry grinned at the look of confusion on her face and laughed.

At that point Mr and Mrs Granger had begun to realise that they wouldn't see anything spectacular, because they were, after all, Muggles, and headed to the kitchen to make some sandwiches.

The two children, if you could even call them that, didn't even notice the absence of the adults.

"You'll understand, you're a fast learner." Harry complimented.

Hermione's chest puffed out in pride, and opened her mouth but Harry seemed to know what was coming.

"Don't get a big head, it's irritating how fast you learn." He added quickly.

"I learnt to talk in a month," Hermione said. "I was 14 months old."

Harry waved his hand, dismissing the fact, "Anyway." Harry continued, "For this first session, we're going to-"

"Session? I thought you'd say lesson or something, because that's what you usually call our classes." Hermione interrupted and Harry narrowed his eyes. "Session it is. Continue."

"Thank you _immensely_ for your _permission_." Harry replied sarcastically, "It is _greatly appreciated_."

Hermione mimed zipping her mouth shut and threw away the key.

Harry shifted into a more comfortable position and folded his legs awkwardly into a pretzel. Hermione opted to ignore what Harry was doing and simply crossed her legs. "What you are going to do is Meditate, but when you get to the point that the book said to stop, don't."

Hermione nodded and fixed her eyes closed tight.

"NO!" Harry shouted and she ripped her eyes open, "I mean. No, you're too tense. It's literally no different to what you've been doing the last couple of months, but instead of stopping at the finish line you run the marathon again."

"Sound exhausting." Hermione said dryly, but closed her eyes after a moment anyway.

Harry sat watching her for fifteen minutes, waiting for her to become unaware of her surroundings, before looking around.

"Where'd they go?" He asked the nearly empty room, but he heard noises in the kitchen and investigated.

"How's it going, Harry?" Michael asked as he was buttering bread.

"She's going to find it, don't worry." Harry said mildly as he snatched a small piece of cold chicken and popped it in his mouth. Harry wasn't surprised when it tasted like chicken.

"Oi!" Jane scolded, "No eating the food!"

Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling and pointedly ate another piece.

Both adults sighed at their inability to get Harry to listen to them.

"I wasn't worried." Mr Granger said after a moment of silence. Harry collapsed into the stool and began putting the chicken on the bread.

"I didn't say you were, Mr Granger ("Michael. My name's Michael.") but the fact is that I needed to say it so the risk of you being worried was diminished. Or as much as it could be at that time."

"Once again, your logic astounds me." Mrs Granger teased.

Once the sandwiches were finished they walked back into the lounge room and watched silently as Hermione sought her Core. Three hours later, Hermione's back straightened suddenly and Harry was immediately on his feet and sitting in front of her.

"Hermione?" Harry breathed, his face close to hers. Harry wasn't really one to take into account personal space. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." Hermione's mouth said, but her voice was wispy and distant, as if she wasn't really in the room with them. It was like she didn't know where she was, but was reacting automatically to the voice, or rather, the question asked.

"Alight," Harry said hungrily, his eyes alight with excitement. He had only witnessed someone find their Core once before and feeling the second hand awe was almost as good as having a Cheering Charm cast on him. "I need you to describe everything you sense about your Core. Thinks like, umm, what do you feel, or what does _it_ feel like? What's the colour? Size? Texture? Anything of significance."

Hermione nodded absently, "It feels… wild, but controllable, like I'll be able to harness the energy in its entirety. It feels loved and warm, but sad, too. The colour confuses me. It's blue, but red and yellow. A little green around the edges but not suffocating. It's… it feels large, but I can only feel that, I can't see the size. Kind of like I know you have a metaphorically big heart, but dimension wise it's the same as mine." Hermione paused, contemplating, "There's a texture to it, too. Parchment, books, wood and spells, but I don't know how I can feel that, it should be something I see, not feel. I- it feels like me."

Harry beamed. She did it first try, "I need you to wake up now, Hermione. Listen to my voice and figuratively walk toward it, follow what you can hear."

Hermione opened her eyes and blinked blearily at the excited and proud look on her friend's face.

"I did it?" She asked hopefully, her eyes wide, "I really did it?"

"Looks like!" Harry laughed and Hermione grinned.

"I can do magic." She realised.

"You can."

"I- I can _do Magic."_ Hermione stressed, her voice awed.

"I know."

"You were right." Hermione grouched.

"I know." Harry said proudly.

"Don't get a big head, its irritating how right you were."

"I was right when I said you shouldn't have climbed that tree."

"You weren't even there!"

"I was in spirit!"

"Mu-um!"

* * *

Harry was lying back on his bed, his hands behind his head and staring at the bottom of the stairs. A spider was crawling ominously along the wood. It was rather small, as far as spiders went, but Harry couldn't help and flinched every time it moved. Pathetic, really. Spiders were nothing compared to Evil Dark Lord Voldemort, but fear made no sense. It didn't before and it didn't now.

Harry wet his lips.

"Harry," Death greeted cheerfully as he materialised in the cupboard where no fully grown adult should have been able to be. It seemed that logic, physics and reality warped for Death. Harry was somewhere between envy and horror.

Harry sighed, not taking his eyes off the black spider as it moved down the underside of the stairs, it's sticky web stopping it from falling onto Harry. That would probably lead to Harry shrieking like a fan girl, his relatives waking up, then, ultimately, being locked in this cupboard for a couple of days. Harry didn't want that. "Yes?" Harry whispered.

"You," He grinned. "Are in _Tru-uble!"_

Harry screwed his nose, disinterested, "That really doesn't surprise me, Death. There has never been a time in my _horrid_ life – and there probably never will be – where I have not disappointed someone." Harry never once took his eyes off the arachnid.

Death traced Harry's gaze and sighed. He pinched the air just above the spider with his non-existent fingers and pulled. The spider dropped, dead. In Death's fingers was a mass of white light. Death gazed at it, "You'd think I'd be more… _empathic_ for living things because I am, after all, Death. No longer alive, and such stuff. But I find myself simply fascinated by how easily life can be taken away. Don't you think so too?" Death let go of the light and it disappeared through the roof.

Harry flicked naked toe and the remains of the critter evaporated into dust. He probably could have killed it himself, but it was something to do until he became tired enough to pass out. "Who's out for my blood this time?"

Death tilted the head he didn't have, "I _think_ it's Mother Magic. I mean, it's probably someone else, but Magic just was like-" Death mimed an explosion "-Piwsh! You know?"

Harry shook his head and Death sighed, "I mean, my house, if you could call it that because no-body inhabits it- geddit? No "BODY!" – just, like exploded in a rain of Magical light and shit. A wave of warm air shattered my windows. It took me hours too think all them up, Harry. Now I have to do it again."

"Yeah that was probably me, sorry." Death didn't think Harry sounded sorry at all, "I was teaching Hermione to find her Core. I think I broke some universal law where I shouldn't teach Muggleborns to find their Magic before Hogwarts, but as Snape had always said, 'You always feel you are above the rules, don't you Potter? Just like your father!'"

Death was almost impressed by Harry's Impression of Severus Snape, but didn't comment. It was revenge for Harry's complete inability to feel genuinely sorry for something he indirectly did to Death.

"Right," Death said and began to collect himself, stood up with the body that didn't exist and looked down at his Master mournfully. "I really wished you could have had a better life, kid."

"I know Death," Harry closed his eyes. "But it just doesn't change anything."

Death twisted his lips, vaguely repeating the mantra of 'that he didn't actually have' before just dissipating into thin air.

Harry rolled over and went to sleep.

* * *

I hope you had a great day/are having a great day/will have a great day.

I am slowly running out of ideas, if any of you guys have anything in mind, please comment.

Thanks, Wherevermyfeetakme.


	8. Chapter 8

I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry about the wait! My imagination and muse figuratively flew out the metaphorical window and fricked off to god only knows where.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, It's really bad.

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Are You Sirius?**

The morning the first letter came Harry was at Privet Drive.

He didn't really know why he wanted to stay at the house for the letter, when it was almost a guaranteed one-way ticket to a week in the cupboard with no food if the Dursleys figured out that Harry had known almost everything about the Wizarding world without them having to tell them. They would certainly be pissed off because they had failed to beat the Freak out of him.

The Dursleys and Harry were sitting around the dining table eating breakfast. Dudley's plate was piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages and something else Harry was regarding with contemplation. It looked sort of like tomato sauce, except it was yellow. Mustard, perhaps? Harry was nibbling of a couple of pieces of toast that Petunia had shoved onto his plate last minute.

Vernon and Dudley were going on about what an honour is was to be attending Smeltings and they kept sending looks of unhidden disgust at Harry, who chose to ignore them in favour of eating his burnt, butterless, bread.

Harry heard the click of the letter-box and the letters fall onto the doormat.

"Get the post Dud-" Vernon began, but Harry was already out of his seat and racing to the door.

He quickly flicked through the mail and shoved the Hogwarts letter into the cupboard through the cracks.

Harry strolled back into the room with a carefully placed look of innocence on his face, and laid the mail next to Vernon's beefy arm. He sat down and continued eating his toast.

Vernon looked through the mail, rolling his eyes at the sight of the bills and passing every other one to Petunia to look through. When he got to the end of the pile, he looked up at Petunia with a look of smugness.

"He didn't get the letter, Pet," Vernon grinned, handing the pile to an apprehensive looking Petunia so she could look through it, just to make sure. "Looks like we succeeded."

They knew when his birthday was?

Petunia looked through the letters three times before sharing the happy grin her husband was wearing. "He didn't get the letter," She crowed in delight.

"What _are_ you talking about?" Dudley whined at being left out of the conversation for once in his life.

Both adults ignored him and continued looked at each other, "I think Harry should move into Dudley's second bedroom," Petunia said.

"WHAT!" Dudley cried, throwing his cutlery down hard on the table.

"Yes, yes- Good idea Petunia," Vernon agreed. "He deserves a reward for being normal."

"But that's _my_ room!" Dudley began howling, but there were no tears in his eyes and Harry gave him a dirty look. "You can't give my room to Freak!"

Vernon and Petunia continued to ignore their son and organised the room to be cleaned up properly for Harry to then permanently move into.

"Harry should be allowed to choose his own colour for the walls, because of course we'll be repainting the walls." Petunia remarked.

Dudley and Harry stared at each other. They were thinking the same things: What the hell?

Nearly a month later, Harry had his own room in the house.

The walls were Slytherin green and the carpet a dark grey. He had a comfy single bed with white linen covering the mattress in the middle of the wall opposite the door and a spacious desk next to it. On the other side of the bed sat a small table, donning a modern lamp.

Harry grinned with vindictive triumph.

So that was how the Dursleys treated Muggles.

Too bad it would end on the First of September.

Harry looked around the room, "Death, I need to speak with you."

The room grew cold and the shadows lengthened, casting an eerie glow from the moon outside before a dark cloud formed in the middle of the room and a man slowly materialised in front of Harry.

Normal people would shiver at the gloom in the room, the feeling of inevitable doom that comes whenever the being of indescribable power realises itself would cause anyone to cry out in terror. Normal people would shy away at the black eyes of Death; normal people would flinch from the pale skin of the man.

But Harry just rolled his eyes and the picture of terror is broken by the wide grin the being gives to Harry, showing a row of pearly white. The being opened his arms wide, his hands shook invitingly.

"Mast- er," Death pauses at the look he receives as he began calling Harry 'Master'. He really should learn, Harry thinks. "I-I mean- Harry! What a lovely surprise!"

"Death," Harry said, "I need a time turner that will go back further than six hours."

Death frowned, and dropped his arms, "What do you need it for?"

Harry crossed his arms and gives death this _look,_ "I need to do my shopping for Hogwarts, go to Gringotts Bank and visit the ministry without gaining the paranoia of my relatives."

"Ah," Death smirks, and takes a contemplative look around the room, admiring the décor. "I really like the Slytherin colours, here. OH! I like your chest of drawers!"

Harry followed Death's line of sight and chuckled, "I thought you might."

It's handles were in the shape of the Deathly Hallows symbol. Harry spent way too long on that stupid chest of drawers.

Harry whipped back to Death, "Don't change the subject!"

Death grimaced and digs into his pocket until his elbow disappears, before retracting a Time turner and chucking it to Harry carelessly.

Harry caught it easily and slipped it around his neck.

"Thanks Death," Harry acknowledged.

"Anything for my favourite Non-Mortal Mortal," Death grinned and faded into the background just as three quiet knocks sounded on his bedroom door.

Harry let his future self into the room and left for Diagon Alley.

"I," Harry announced as he slumped into a leather chair across from head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Would like to prove a current prisoner of Azkaban innocent of all charges."

Amelia Bones stared uncomprehendingly for a few precious moments before blinking hard, "Right. Right, okay. And what criminal would you like to prove innocent today, Mr Potter?"

Harry grinned, "One Sirius Orion Black, previously accosted for betraying my parents to Voldemort-"Amelia's eye twitched slightly, "-and killing them by default, absolutely slautering 13 Muggles in broad daylight with one cure, which is quite the accomplishment let me tell you, and murdering Peter Pettigrew, who, and I wouldn't quote me on this because logically I'm not even supposed to know about the Wizarding thanks to the increasingly annoying manipulations of the self-appointed Lord of light," Harry took a deep breath. "Is currently residing in the Weasley's house playing pet rat to one Percy Weasley."

Amelia reached a shaking hand to her hair and tries to pet down her already perfect bun, shuffled the papers on her desk for a fleeting moment and laced her fingers together, "Alright Mr Potter, what did you have in mind?"

"I have the best idea. . ."

 **Sirius Black Innocent of all Charges?**

 **Earlier this week the Ministry went back over their records for reasons they are unable to disclose and discovered that Black had never been given a trial.**

 **Thinking they could sentence him to the Kiss, they gave him a trial, expecting him to confess under Veritaserum, but, according to Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he "Told the Wizengamot that Peter Petigrew was actually the Potter's Secret Keeper and not Sirius Black himself. He also said, while under Veriteserum I might add, that Pettigrew is alive and well with only a finger missing."**

 **Bones reports that, "He is currently hiding out in his illegal animagus form, which, according to Mr Black, is a common garden rat with one claw missing. His fur is grey and gets scared at the smallest of things."**

 **Dear readers, was this an honest mistake, of did the Ministry really send an alleged murderer straight into Azkaban without a Trial? Was an innocent man forced to spend 10 years with the Dementors for crimes he didn't commit? Are you playing host to a murdered? Check page six for more details. Wish to read more on what Sirius has to say? See more on page three.**

The paper was lowered and the frightening grin of an 11-year-old-going-on-700-year-old appeared behind it.

Sparkling Green eyes looked towards his Snowy Owl, "It's going to be a great year isn't it Hedwig?"

Hedwig gave an agreeing hoot.

* * *

Reviews please! I really need some new ideas as to where this story should go! Please and thankyou!

Wherevermyfeetakeme.


	9. Chapter 9

So, this is about thirty thousand years late, I'm so sorry. I've been incredibly unmotivated to write anything on this for months, plus school has taken over priority, but I'm here now, with another chapter for you to read as you see fit.

Thanks for being you strangers, I hope you like it,

Wherevermyfeetakeme

* * *

 **Harry Potter's Untimely Travels to the Past**

* * *

Harry stood immovable in the middle of a crowd even as the wave of people pressed in on all sides. He had a strong hold on himself, his feet firmly planted on the concrete as the numerous Muggles jostled him every which way. His clothes, which consisted of jeans, a white button-down shirt, a tie, and dress shoes and his non-existent hat that sat precariously on his head of bird's-nest hair because it didn't really exist, nor was it invisible remain unshaken as he waited for the gate to open. The gate into the Wizarding world was no more than two meters in front of him, ominous in its ability to blend in and remain incorrigible throughout time so Muggles couldn't get in. He was waiting for the clock to strike eight o'clock in the morning (the time the gate opened on the first of September for the start of school) so he could get first pick for the train. It was imperative that he have the first pick, with no other students in any other cart. It would take him a while to set up the ward.

Hermione wasn't with him, nor were her parents for reasons Harry wouldn't explain to them. At all. They were pissed off to say the least when Harry ordered them to go on their own and act like they didn't know what the hell was going on, or that they knew him. They would find out soon enough in the grand scheme of things. They'd just have to wait for a while.

He swallowed thickly as he stepped forwards towards the wall, knowing that in a minute, he'd reach the wall, his stomach millimetres away and the magic would activate. He'd be allowed to go through, to the train. He could almost feel the memories coming back. Of first experiencing the wizarding world for the first time. It was like that, but all over again. He was ecstatic to be going back to Hogwarts even if the headmaster was a bit of a dickhead and tried to force him into a war he didn't particularly want to participate in, but would anyway. To be honest, if Harry had it his way, he would never want to come face to face with the long-bearded lout, but he had Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Draco, Pansy, Zabini, Luna, Seamus, Dean and McGonagall to worry about no matter that most of them were annoying little shits at eleven years old and would refuse to let him re-educate himself in peace, once they actually met him properly.

For each and every one of them, though, he would gladly destroy himself.

His trunk waddled beside him as he neared the gate. A small trunk of a width of thirty centimetres, a height of thirty centimetres, as well as a length of twenty centimetres sprouted small squid-like feet that suctioned on and off the ground with deliberate noises and cause the whole thing to sway each side with every step. It stayed put wherever Harry placed it and would never move again unless his own hand touched it and shifted it elsewhere no matter how much force was placed onto it, or Harry purposefully thought about wanting it to move. A bomb could be placed right next to it and nothing would happen. Not even soot marks would spoil it. Atomic bombs would leave nothing but a crater where London used to stand, obliterating everything in its wake, leaving the body parts of humans, animals and machinery scattered around, burnt, melted and completely decimated. But within the smoking ruin, in perfect condition and as shiny as the day it was bought would sit a brown trunk, engraved with the letters HJPBP. Some would say it wasn't worth the equivalent of a large home, but Harry would disagree.

If it kept the Deathly Hallows from being stolen, then so be it. It wouldn't be worth the whole universe if they were taken.

Harry twisted his lips and fixed a strained smile that was more like a baring of teeth on his face before turning to the Dursleys, who believed him to be going off to school far away from here. Or Scotland for that matter. Their faces lit up and they waved, Petunia more than the other two, but Harry turned back around before they could call out, stepped forwards and disappeared into the wall in full view of the Dursleys.

They would be furious, which was why Harry smirked happily, and with a skip in his step trotted towards the first cart in the train, his trunk following him with every move.

He'd been reading the book for a while, opened to a page about the merits of digging a trench vs brushing one's teeth written by a woman who went by the name of Bagathan Milentic. Quirky woman, Harry thought and despite the particularly boring topic Harry found it interesting to read. The sounds of other children had filled the train a couple of hours ago, but no one had come in to check the car. You might say magic was involved but Harry would never admit to anything.

Hermione was on her way so Harry shoved the book violently into his trunk and shrunk and stuffed the bag into his pocket before sitting perfectly still. He stared without seeing at the opposite wall and waited for the door to open.

It did, but then the young girl in the threshold paused as she took in the sight of her old friend lost in thought. Unusually still perhaps, but no less unusual than the fact that he stayed with his guardians for years when Hermione's parents had offered to house him. But then again Harry had always been a strange boy.

So Hermione sat in direct line of Harry's sight and opened _Hogwarts: A History_ to a random page and began reading.

An hour passed.

Two hours went by and the train had been on the tracks for a couple of hours. Hermione slammed her book shut in a sudden fit of fury. She then, with faux calm but sparks of anger in her eyes, placed her book on the bench beside her and crept right up to Harry's face until they were nose to nose. For a moment, one measly minute, she stared into his eyes, waiting for something to make him notice that she was so close. But nothing happened and she was fed up of being ignored.

"Harry," she hissed, clicking her fingers beside his ears. "Answer me you arsehole!"

She probably shouldn't have been swearing; her mother would turn her hide to leather and then resurrect her with no skin on and then kill her again. Swearing was forbidden and each letter of a swearword was worth fifty pounds. The swear jar, as they left it in the Granger's home currently had just one note in it worth a hundred pounds. Harry had a habit of swearing at the television. They'd bought a new car with the previous lot of cash. A nice car, too.

Her words were met with little more than a weary blink and she cupped her hand and brought it down hard against Harry's thigh, a painful move Harry had taught her years ago, something for which she was eternally grateful, but now when the bastard was ignoring her, she used it against him. Harry didn't even have the decency of wincing, no matter how painful she knew it was.

"Hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle the cow jumped over the moon," Hermione's singing voice was horrid and she sung it quietly right into his face. "The little dog laughed to see such fun and the dish – "

She slammed her palms over his ears which left a high-pitched ringing sound reverberating around his head.

" – Ran away. . !"

Hermione put her lips as close to Harry's as she dared and roared the last part of the nursery rhyme.

". . .WITH THE SPOON!"

The door slammed open and Hermione whipped around, her hands still clamped over his ears to stare at the wide eyed blond boy standing with a gaping mouth in the doorway, his hand clutching onto his heart.

"What in Merlin's name are you _doing_?" He gasped.

"N-nothing," Hermione retracted her hands and stood with them behind her back. Hermione moved so much so that Harry, who was still staring uselessly at the wall, was now visible to the boy, whose eyes widened comically.

"What did you _do_ to him?" He leapt forwards and clutched at Harry's head like Hermione had been doing a second ago. "Potter! Hey Potter!"

He whirled on her, "You useless Mudblood you've killed him!"

"No I haven't, he was like that when I came in here!" she protests, pointing her trembling finger at Harry, who was now fighting an inner battle of laughter, struggling with all his might to not alert them to the fact that he was fine. "And what's a Mudblood?"

"Maybe you should have called someone then!" he turned back to Harry. "Potter can you hear me? Potter if you can hear me don't blink, if you can blink twice."

Hermione snorted, "He won't blink if he can't hear you."

"But he didn't blink, stupid! Which means he can hear us!"

Harry could barely handle the illogical explanation that Draco thought was logical and neither could Hermione if her second disgusted snort was anything to go by.

"How do you know him anyway?" Hermione asked, knowing Harry was alright.

Draco didn't know this and kept trying to get Harry to answer him to no avail, "We met in Nocturn Alley."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry, realising.

"You dick."

Harry cackled, and fell off the bench while Draco leapt back.

"Merlin's saggy left ear lobe's grandmother's sweet arsehole!" He shouted, realised what he said and flushed a deep red.

"You told me you'd met the smartest man on the planet that day, not this little dweeb!" She growled.

"Hey!"

Hermione grabbed Harry by his ear and lugged him out the car.

"You are a total liar and a dick and I hate you!" she pushed him to the floor and slammed the door shut, locking him out of the car. Harry gaped for a fraction of a second before slowly, methodically, his mouth pulled into a satisfied smirk.

He couldn't believe he did it. Hermione was now having a lovely conversation with Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy was now flattered that Harry thought he was the smartest man in the world, insulted that Hermione thought not so, confused at Harry's performance and awed that Mudbloods were still human and interacting with the legend himself. Draco was now well on his was to redemption after negative forty years of nothing but cruelty. Best get out of the cycle, Harry always said. Yeah.

Harry was impressed with himself and slightly smug.

Best plan ever.

Harry turned his head as he realised the doors along the hall had been opened and people were crowding the walkway. He grinned at them, stood and dusted himself off before striding with unhurried steps towards where he knew Ron was seated. The door opened easily and he stepped through, sitting opposite his old best friend.

"Hello, Bobby."

Ron's eyebrows pulled down in confusion. "I'm not Bobby."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn. . ." Harry trailed off, seemed to look closer, then gasped, "No! You're not Bobby! What did you do to Bobby?"

The red head flinched, "I didn't do anything to Bobby, mate! Who are you talking about?"

Harry gaped and Ron stared fixedly with eyes widened in shock, before they flickered to Harry's hairline, where Harry knew the scar was visible.

"Blimey. . ." He gasped.

"What?" Harry snapped, turning around and pretending to look around for who Ron was talking to. "Who are you talking to. Did you find Bobby? Tell me you found Bobby. He's my best friend and father of my children! Where is he?"

"You're kidding, mate."

Harry's bottom lip wobbled.

"I mean, obviously not, because you're close to – wait," Ron leaned back into the bench. "You're one of Fred and George's friends, aren't you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, "Are you _insinuating_ that I'm _lying_?" He stomped forwards and leaned close to Ron's face. "And if you are, well. . ." He lowered his voice, "You would be right."

"Well I – I am?" Ron asked more confused than he'd ever been in his life.

"Yeah, mate," Harry said and collapsed into the opposite bench. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

"Ron Weasl – " Ron paused, "Potter did you say?"

"Well Ron Weasel, I did say that. What's it to you?"

"I just – " Ron saw the look of challenge on Harry's face. "Never mind. And it's Weasley, not Weasel."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then."

Silence follows as they stare at each other with similar feelings of awkwardness.

"So, uhh. . ." Ron looked around. "Where's your trunk?"

"Oh," Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out the tiny trunk, throwing it to the floor. In seconds it became normal size and stood proudly in the middle of the car. "There it is."

". . .is that an _unbreakable trunk_?" Ron gaped, wide eyed, his face slowly reddening. With what, Harry didn't know.

"It sure is buddy, but if you want I can buy you one."

"You _can't!"_ He paused, "Can you?"

"Sure."

"But. . .but, why?"

"Because." Harry tilted his head to the side.

"Just because?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "If you want to know me, you'll have to get used to the strange and the wacky or you'll go insane from the second hand strangeness."

"What if I don't want to get used to it?"

"Well get used to it anyway." The _Or else_ was implied.

* * *

Thanks for reading guys!

Review and all that other stuff, blah, blah blah. . .

Bye!


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